Cleaning

I promised SemiSpecial that I would not let my pigeon warfare turn into a blog entry so I'll just briefly mention the pure and complete satisfaction I got out of destroying that pigeon nest, and I'll only touch on how my brow darken with a sinister light as I crushed that egg beneath my broom. I won't even speak of how insanely those pigeons flew after I tossed boiling water onto them.

A promise is a promise.

Last Friday I cleaned my apartment. Well at least as much of it as I could. My roommate unlike me seems to have no problem with allowing her mess to spill out of her room into the apartment. Now I admit that her room is smaller than mine, but I really don't understand how that justifies using one of the tables in our little common area as an extended bookshelf. I also don't see why, after her mother's Japan visit ended a solid week ago, she hasn't removed her mother's mess from our kitchen table. Like the table is covered in maps and little receipts and stuff like that. I know the receipts aren't mine because I keep all of my receipts on the floor in my room. She also hasn't washed a dish since I've been here. I've been washing to keep away fruit flies and mosquitoes. I really don't have any desire to be responsible for culturing the newest strain of malaria in my apartment's kitchen sink.

At any rate I cleaned.

I cleaned the bird shit covered balcony. I washed every dish in that kitchen (all of which have mysteriously become dirty again.) Then I cleaned my room which seemed to defy cleaning. It looks the same now as it did before I cleaned it.

Cleaning isn't fun. While looking for things to spear the pigeons with I stumbled across a new closet in the apartment. Actually the closet wasn't new I had just never noticed it and my roommate never bothered to mention it. This closet is apparently the designated place for recyclables in the apartment. I've just been wrangling shit on the kitchen floor in plastic bags. My roommate never felt the need to mention that the shit had a home. I'm not mad though, because after examining the closet I realized why. My kitchen rodeo results in the trash and recyclable shit getting taken out. The closet does not. The floor of the closet was littered with no less than 30 glass bottles, ten cans, and six plastic bottles that had been partially filled with water and used as ash trays by my roommate. Sanitary? I think not. Their plastic cartons, random paper bags, stuff I couldn't recognize (but know should be recycled), and beautiful, if not small, net for the balcony. (The war continues.)

In short that closet was disgusting. I emptied out most of the trash but I think I'm gonna have to raise my voice at some point because I create a lot of trash, but I do not horde trash in my home. That is disgusting. I have to find some way to talk about this with my roommate. Also I think the apartment feels like a furniture store. There is too much stuff. It has this whole going to fall in on you feel and I don't like that feeling. I'm a little claustrophobic and I just keep imagining how this apartment (on the 10th floor) would suck during an earthquake.

Maybe an earthquake would do away with those damn pigeons.